


Take Me to the Vault!

by vorpalsword



Series: Missy & Villanelle [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Attempted Murder, F/F, F/M, Featuring flirting, Gen, Movie Night, Twissy (implied), Villaneve (implied), and two psychopaths full of yearning trying to talk about feelings, making fun of Nardole, weaponized cutlery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:47:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24135331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vorpalsword/pseuds/vorpalsword
Summary: Villanelle has to spend a week in the vault with Missy.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova, Twelfth Doctor/Missy
Series: Missy & Villanelle [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1740472
Comments: 3
Kudos: 41





	Take Me to the Vault!

**Author's Note:**

> This is a pop-out fic from Don’t hate the villain, hate the Villanelle, but can be read as a stand-alone if you’re not bothered about the circumstances that brought these two together. 
> 
> Set immediately after KE S2 for Villanelle and sometime in DW S10 for Missy.

Villanelle had been in prison before - technically, more than once - but now she could add “kidnapped and locked in a secret vault” to her list of incarcerations.

Considering the day she’d been having, it honestly wasn’t the worst part.

It had started in Rome, when Villanelle’s undercover operation quickly went sour. Konstantin set her up, chose his family over her. And then Eve…

Well, Villanelle wasn’t ready to think about Eve yet.

Then a strange woman showed up, proclaiming herself to be a fan of Villanelle’s work, and asked to hire her.

Villanelle agreed to kill three targets for Missy, and from that moment her problems only multiplied. Not only had Villanelle failed to kill all three targets, the last one had captured her and was holding her hostage. 

But Villanelle would not be alone in the vault, because apparently her strange employer was  _ also _ currently incarcerated there. Which was convenient, since Villanelle had decided to kill her.

/ /

“So, poppet, what’s your story?” Missy asks lazily. “You must have really cocked it up to end up in here with me.”

Villanelle frowns at her.

“We are alone now. Why are you still acting like you don’t know me?”

“Because I  _ don’t  _ know you.”

Villanelle’s frown deepens. 

“Of course you do. You hired me in Rome and -”

“Ah-ah!” Missy scolds, finger over her lips. “I  _ will _ hire you. In Rome, apparently.”

“You  _ did _ hire me in Rome!” Villanelle shouts, getting angry. “You did!”

Missy rolls her eyes and mutters, “I cannot believe the Doctor locked me in here with an ape and expects me to teach it temporal physics.”

Villanelle seethes. Before Missy has even finished her sentence, Villanelle is across the room with her hands around Missy’s neck.

Missy’s eyes widen in surprise, but she seems otherwise unconcerned. Villanelle squeezes, hard. Missy’s eyes narrow, their focus sharpening. One of her hands comes up and wraps around Villanelle’s, pulling it away from her neck with a strength that didn’t match her slight frame, leaving her just enough space to speak.

“You will let go now,” Missy says, eyes boring into Villanelle’s.

And Villanelle does, dropping her other hand immediately.

Villanelle takes a few steps back, surprised by the other woman’s strength, and confused as to why she let her go. Her head feels a bit fuzzy. She shakes it.

When Villanelle looks back up, Missy is appraising her with an amused grin.

“So, not your average ape, then.”

“Do not call me  _ ape _ ,” Villanelle growls.

Missy sniffs, unphased by Villanelle’s dangerous tone. “Oh alright, we’ll save that one for special occasions. What do you like to be called then?”

“Villanelle.”

“Villanelle? Like the poetry? And you kill people?”

Villanelle nods.

“I think I’m in love!” Missy swoons dramatically.

Villanelle feels like she’s getting whiplash from Missy’s moods, but she can’t deny she enjoys the attention.

“You did say you were my biggest fan. Well, second biggest.”

“Darling, I’ve never been second in anything.”

/ /

Three times a day someone comes to bring them food. The Doctor turns up in the evenings, sometimes with the girl Bill in tow. But most of the time, their meals are brought by the bald man in the red coat.

“Hey you. Baldie.”

The man lets out a long sigh, like he’s well accustomed to this sort of treatment and knows there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

“My name is Nardole.”

Villanelle wrinkles her nose.

“What kind of a name is that? You should get a better one.”

“I call him The Egg,” Missy volunteers from across the room, already picking over her own breakfast.

Villanelle’s eyes light up.

“Ooh, that is good! Because he is all round and white and shiny,” she nods decisively. “I will call you The Egg.”

The Egg lets out another long sigh, much like the first. “Did you want something?”

“Yes,” Villanelle says sweetly, gesturing to her breakfast tray. “You have not given me a knife.”

The Egg snorts. “You’re joking, right?”

“No, you really have forgotten it, look!” Villanelle holds up a fork in one hand and a spoon in the other to demonstrate her knifelessness.

“We’re not giving you a knife. You can’t be trusted.”

“I have a knife,” Missy volunteers unhelpfully.

“Yes, well. You don’t need a knife to kill someone,” the Egg mutters.

“True,” Missy concedes cheerfully.

“That’s funny,” Villanelle says. “Neither do I.”

She spins lightning-fast in her seat, sending her fork flying prongs-first like a dart right at Missy’s face.

There’s a blur of motion and the sharp  _ clang! _ of metal on metal as Missy bats the projectile out of the air. Missy smirks as she twirls her knife around her fingers in victory.

Villanelle scowls.

“Right,” the Egg sighs, heading for the door. “No forks, either.”

“Are you sure about that?” Villanelle calls after him. “Death by spoon is very slow and painful!”

/ /

It’s a lot of down time, prison. 

Villanelle knows from experience. It was boring, so  _ boring _ all of the time. Villanelle used to pick fights just to have something to do.

Of course, she’s never been incarcerated with someone like Missy before, who seems to fluctuate in mood from aloof to manic at the drop of a hat. Someone who seems to so easily counter Villanelle’s attempts on her life.

That doesn’t stop Villanelle from trying.

In between breakfast and lunch on her first day in the vault, Villanelle attempts to kill Missy nearly a dozen times. 

All are unsuccessful.

A third (and final) attempt at basic strangulation, foiled. Tripping her up, then smashing her head against the piano? Never happens, because Missy never trips at all. At one point, they even have a sort of sword fight with their breakfast spoons (which they’d both stolen and hidden after the meal, of course). Missy disarms her with flourish.

With every failed attempt, Missy grows more pleased, more smug. Villanelle grows angrier and more desperate.

After her latest attempt to bash Missy’s head in from behind - sneaking up on her as she lounged in a chair, humming inanely to herself - ends with Villanelle on her back, staring up at the vault ceiling, she decides to give it a rest.

Missy’s face appears above Villanelle as she leans over the woman with an amused grin.

“Would you like to watch a movie?”

Villanelle scowls up at her, but then grits out, “Fine.”

Villanelle isn’t giving up. She’s just taking a break, to plan, to observe, to lull Missy into a false sense of security.

She’s definitely still going to kill her.

/ /

Bill joins the Egg in delivering lunch. She seems to take great pleasure in handing Villanelle a knife along with her fork and spoon.

The cutlery is flimsy, disposable plastic.

Missy cackles at Villanelle’s expression… until she’s handed the same.

“You’re joking,” she says, eyes narrowed at the pair.

“Doctor’s orders,” the Egg shrugs, looking quite smug.

“Can’t have you two hacking each other to bits in here,” Bill adds cheerfully.

Villanelle hates her.

“If you think this is going to stop me from killing her, you are stupider than you look.”

She tries to hold the plastic knife menacingly, but it doesn’t really have the desired effect.

Bill raises an eyebrow.

“Okay Cujo, we get it. You’re very scary. Now eat your spaghetti.”

Villanelle looks down at her plate.  _ What do you want for dinner, Eve? _

Of course it’s spaghetti.

She stabs the knife into a meatball forcefully (as forcefully as one can stab a plastic knife, that is) and shoves it in her mouth, making a great show of chewing and swallowing.

“Happy?” she asks Bill.

“Ecstatic,” she replies. “What’s with the voice, by the way?”

“This is my voice,” Villanelle says, rolling her eyes at the naive girl. She had been using an English accent when they first met, when Villanelle had infiltrated the Doctor’s lecture at the university. She can’t believe the girl didn’t realize it was all fake after her murder plot was exposed.

“So you’re actually… what is that, Russian? Ukranian?”

Villanelle just stares at her like she’s stupid, prompting Missy to chime in.

“Miss Potts, we have with us here a bona-fide  _ Russkie _ .” Missy burrs the R with great flourish as she slings an arm around Villanelle’s shoulders. Villanelle glares and shoves her away.

“Huh. Well, sorry about that,” Bill deadpans.

The barest hint of a smile twitches across Villanelle’s lips.

“Yeah, me too.” 

Maybe she likes Bill, just a little bit.

/ /

Missy attempts to explain the concept of time travel to Villanelle. Not because she thinks anyone with a human pea-brain can truly understand, but because she can tell  _ not  _ understanding will agitate Villanelle.

“ - so basically, this me, in the vault with you, is a me from your past, which is now your present because of your temporal displacement, and the me that you met in Rome is a me in my personal future, but your relative past.”

Sure enough, Villanelle’s face is being held carefully blank, but her eye twitches a bit in confused frustration.

“And that’s why I don’t know who you are, because I haven’t met you yet, even though you’ve already met me!” Missy beams at Villanelle, who’s openly frowning now.

“And that’s also why you’re stuck in here for a week, because strictly speaking you’ve already lived this week, and it really wouldn’t do to have two you’s running about in the world,” Missy continues brightly. 

“Two...me’s?”

“It’s very naughty to cross one’s own timeline,” Missy scolds, waggling a finger at the other woman.

Villanelle hasn’t understood most of what Missy has been blabbering about, and she suspects that’s on purpose. She tries to verbalize the basics.

“I...time travelled. To last week?”

“Well, “last week” is a relative measurement. ‘Last week’ for you is ‘this week’ for me. And now it’s also ‘this week’ for you too.”

Now Villanelle knows Missy is doing it on purpose.

She crosses her arms.

“How did I do it then?” she says challengingly.

“You had nothing to do with it,” Missy answers, voice full of derision. “That bit, I’m sure, was all me.”

“ _ You _ know how to time travel?”

“Of course. People on my planet worked it out  _ ages _ ago.”

“Your planet? Are you trying to say you are from - from space?”

“Nobody is from space, I just said ‘planet,’ didn’t I?”

Villanelle stares at her blankly for a minute. Then -

“You’re a crazy person, aren’t you? They have locked me in here with a crazy person.”

Missy grins manically.

“Oh, I’m absolutely bananas, dearie. But I’m also absolutely  _ not _ human.” She spits out the word derisively.

“You don’t look like you are from space,” Villanelle frowns. “You look human.”

“No,  _ you  _ look like a -” Missy huffs in frustration before changing tactics. “Hand,” she demands.

After a moment of hesitation, Villanelle offers her hand to Missy. Missy grabs it and immediately places it on her own chest.

Villanelle’s eyes widen in surprise and she smirks.

“Ooh, very forward. I like it.”

Missy gives her a long-suffering look.

“Count the hearts, dear.”

Villanelle cocks her head to the side, amused.

“Your foreplay is strange. Is that what makes you an alien?”

Missy slides Villanelle’s hand to the other side of her chest.

Villanelle frowns, eyebrows wrinkling in confusion. She moves her hand back to its original position to be sure.

“Two heartbeats,” she confirms, eyes wide.

“Two hearts,” Missy intones, stepping back from Villanelle’s touch. She gestures down to herself with flourish. “Time Lady.”

“Time Lady,” Villanelle echoes back. “That is what you call yourself. That is your - your -” she struggles to find the right word.

“Species, I think is what you’re going for.”

“Huh,” Villanelle looks Missy up and down suspiciously, like she’s trying to find something else that makes her an alien. “Weird.”

Missy scoffs, “What’s weird is only having one heart. I don’t know how you lot manage.”

They’re quiet for a moment, but Missy sees the mischievous glint light up Villanelle’s eyes before she speaks again.

“So, are all Time Ladies as sexy as you?” Villanelle purrs.

Missy smirks back.

“I don’t know. What do you think of old Eyebrows? Sexy?”

Villanelle makes a face.

“No. Him too?”

Missy hums in confirmation.

Villanelle pauses to process this new information. Missy, deciding the conversation is over, picks up a book.

But she’s interrupted only a minute later when Villanelle pipes up again.

“Why are aliens Scottish?”

/ /

The Doctor comes alone for dinner, bearing take-away containers full of Thai food. He extends two pairs of chopsticks towards Villanelle and Missy, then retracts them quickly.

“Don’t make me regret this,” he says meeting each of their eyes in turn, already sounding resigned.

“Best behavior,” Missy sings. “Cross my hearts!”

“It’s okay. We are friends now,” Villanelle adds sweetly.

The Doctor rolls his eyes - indicating he absolutely does not believe either of them - but hands over the chopsticks anyways.

Villanelle will definitely be trying to drive one of these through Missy’s eyes later. For now though, she greedily shovels noodles into her mouth at an inhuman speed.

“See? You don’t even have to worry about little old me causing trouble. She’s going to choke to death all on her own,” Missy says dryly, eyeing Villanelle with open disgust.

Villanelle smiles at her around a mouth full of food, noodles spilling out of her lips, and gives Missy the finger.

The Doctor sighs heavily and opens his own take-away container.

“Oksana, whatever you do, don’t choke. She’s insufferable when she’s right.”

Villanelle freezes mid-bite.

“I’m insufferable all the time, thank you very -”

“What did you call me?” Villanelle interrupts.

“Oksana,” the Doctor repeats, sounding confused. “That’s your name, isn’t it?”

“My name is Villanelle,” she answers, eyes flashing dangerously.

“Oksana Astankova, 26 years old. Currently working as an assassin under the employ of a multi-national government syndicate known as The Twelve. Codename, Villanelle,” the Doctor rattles off around his own mouthful of Thai.

“How do you know all that?” Villanelle asks suspiciously.

“Bio-scan,” he answers gruffly, like this is an explanation and not just a made-up word.

“Is that an alien thing?” Villanelle asks, wrinkling her nose.

The Doctor turns to glare at Missy with cross eyebrows, who affixes him with her most innocent look in return.

“Was I not supposed to mention that?”

Cross Eyebrows' eyebrows get even more cross-looking.

“You get to tell all of  _ your _ pets,” Missy mutters.

/ /

“So, whaddaya in for, doll?” Villanelle drawls in her best New York mafia voice. 

She thinks the goofy accent will help undercut her genuine curiosity. She doesn’t want Missy to know she’s actually interested in her life - in how she came to be stuck in the vault, and in her incredible ability to go head-to-head with Villanelle.

“It would be quicker to list the things I’m  _ not  _ in for,” Missy responds in a disinterested tone.

“Really?” Villanelle smirks at the other woman. “I knew you were a bad girl.”

“The baddest,” Missy winks. “But I prefer “time-space criminal prodigy” or “sexy super-genius” or “master of all evil,” if we’re assigning titles.”

“Sexy super-genius, huh? Well, sexy for sure,” Villanelle says, looking Missy up and down appreciatively. “But if you’re such a genius, what are you doing stuck here in a box?”

Missy rolls her eyes, not rising to the provocation.

“Darling, I’ve collapsed whole civilizations. I’ve taken on the most brilliant minds in this galaxy and the next. I once made a functioning gun from nothing but leaves, and I’ve come back from the dead more times than anyone can count. I could get out of a  _ box _ any time I wanted,” Missy says the last bit pointedly.

(Villanelle had spent the morning testing the vault’s limits, trying to figure out an escape route. She had only a bruised shoulder and several singed fingers to show for it.)

“Then why don’t you?” Villanelle asks, arms crossed challengingly.

“I pinky-promised I wouldn’t,” comes the tart reply.

Villanelle considers the other woman silently for a moment.

“Tell me about the leaf gun,” she mutters begrudgingly.

Missy flashes her a brilliant smile.

“Oh, you’re gonna love this!”

/ /

It becomes a habit, after that - sharing their wild schemes, their most extravagant murders. Trying to one-up each other with their flair for the dramatic.

“Deadly plastic!”

Villanelle yawns. “Boooring.”

Missy glares.

“It was not! You humans love plastic, it’s everywhere! In every home, every shop. One signal from me and BLAM! It comes alive and strangles you.”

“Oh, you didn’t mention it strangled people. That is good, I guess.”

/ /

The question comes halfway through Villanelle’s time in the vault. She had been keeping her mind occupied with ways she could kill Missy for the last few days, giving herself very little opportunity to think about Rome. To think about her job. To think about -

“Who’s Eve?”

Villanelle flinches at the name - just a touch - so slightly only someone masterfully perceptive would notice.

Which Missy is, of course.

“Who?” Villanelle asks nonchalantly, not looking at Missy.

“ _ Eve _ ,” Missy repeats, somehow drawing out the single syllable so that the sound of it lingers in the cavernous room.

When Villanelle doesn’t respond, she continues airily, “You say her name in your sleep sometimes.”

Villanelle has no way of knowing what she does or doesn’t say in her sleep.

She does know she dreams of Eve.

“...and you think about her all the time.”

Villanelle’s eyes finally meet Missy’s, flashing dangerously.

“You don’t know what I think,” she spits out between gritted teeth.

“I do when you’re thinking  _ so loudly _ ,” Missy mutters in annoyance.

Villanelle glowers at her. Lifts a challenging eyebrow.

“What am I thinking now then?”

“That you’d like to kill me,” Missy answers dully.

And well. 

Easy guess.

/ /

“The Eyebrows,” Villanelle suggests, dangling her head backwards off the chair she was lounging on.

“Yes,” Missy concurs, spread-eagled across her own chair, “but it’s a bit obvious.”

“Angry Eyebrows?”

Missy hums, considering.

“Scottish Eyebrows?”

“I feel like we’re fixating a bit, here.”

Villanelle screws up her face in concentration.

“Doctor Eyebrows!”

“Doctor  _ Disco _ .” Missy does a little shoulder shimmy.

“Ooh, Doctor  _ Disco _ ,” Villanelle echoes, copying the move.

“I actually prefer Doctor Funkenstein,” the Doctor deadpans as he closes the vault door on a wave of laughter.

/ /

Villanelle loves films. She has always wanted someone to watch movies with.

She did not expect her first real movie night to be held in a secret vault with two aliens as her viewing partners. 

She also did not expect the film in question to be  _ Frozen _ .

Villanelle raises an eyebrow at Missy’s selection.

“Don’t look at me like that. Eyebrows only lets me watch the kid stuff.”

“It’s to teach you morals,” the Doctor responds around a mouthful of popcorn, completely unapologetic.

“Gross,” Villanelle says, wrinkling her nose.

“Disgusting,” Missy agrees, and presses play.

The movie is animated. Bright and cheerful and full of singing - so much singing - and there is a talking snowman who is very annoying. Neither the Doctor, nor Missy, nor Villanelle enjoy watching it… but the Doctor  _ really _ doesn’t enjoy it. So naturally, Missy and Villanelle immediately start acting like they  _ love _ it.

It starts with Missy humming along to the songs. Then Villanelle starts laughing extra loud and long at all the jokes. Missy one-ups this move by laughing even when there isn’t a joke. 

The Doctor grits his teeth, eyebrows cross.

By the end, Missy and Villanelle are doing a full sing-along at the top of their lungs. Only they don’t actually know the words and just keep filling the lyrics with nonsense.

“ _ Do you wanna build a SANDWICH?” _

_ “Let ME GO! Let it SNOW!” _

When the end credits roll, the Doctor gets up, ejects the DVD, and chucks it straight into the bin.

Missy throws herself onto the piano bench and immediately picks up where the soundtrack left off. The Doctor gives her an exasperated look and turns to leave.

“ _ OKAY, BYE _ !” Villanelle and Missy chorus in unison.

/ /

“So, your time in  _ chez moi _ is nearly up. What are you going to do when you get out?” Missy’s eyes take on that special shine Villanelle has come to realize means she’s about to bring out the claws.

“...Visit your darling Eve, perhaps?” Missy smiles innocently, baiting Villanelle.

All of her previous attempts to discuss Eve have resulted in Villanelle losing her temper and trying to kill Missy.

This time, Villanelle just looks at the other woman and sighs.

Maybe she  _ does _ want to talk about Eve. Or maybe Villanelle is just tired of feeling angry. 

“I do not think she wants to see me,” Villanelle says softly, not looking at Missy. “I... shot her. In Rome.”

“Is that all?” Missy scoffs. “Burn her alive, or leave her stranded on Skaro. Then we can talk.”

“I shot her, and I left her,” Villanelle continues, ignoring Missy. “I don’t know if…”

She trails off for a moment, eyes far away.

“I don’t know if she is… I did not aim to kill her. But it was far away from people, where I left her. If no one heard… if no one came to help…”

“Humans are very fragile,” Missy hums.

Villanelle isn’t sure if this is supposed to be an attempt at sympathy or simply Missy observing a fact. Either way, Villanelle doesn’t have a response. It’s silent for a moment, before Missy speaks up again.

“Why do you like her?” She doesn’t sound dismissive, like she usually does. Just genuinely curious.

Villanelle sighs. There are a lot of things she likes about Eve. Her magnificent hair. Her ugly clothes and her stupid accent. Her sense of humor. The way she hacked into a man with an axe to save Villanelle’s life. The way she can find Villanelle anywhere, any time, like they’ve been tied together with an invisible string, like it’s destiny, like it’s fate.

Without thinking about it, she feels her hand move to clutch at her side, covering the scar on her abdomen. What does she like about Eve?

“We are… the same.”

She expects Missy to question this, like Konstantin had.  _ Are you sure?  _ or  _ What does that mean? _

But when Villanelle looks over at Missy, she’s stroking the cameo brooch at her neck, her eyes glassy and her gaze a million miles away.

And Villanelle has the strangest feeling that she’s found the one person who really does understand what that means. Even if she is an alien.

/ /

“So I am dressed up like a nurse - it is a fetish thing, you know -”

“Naturally.”

“And he says it’s his birthday, and his regular girl had something  _ special _ planned.”

“I bet your plans were even more  _ special _ .”

“I get the gas going, and I take out this thing, go under his hospital gown… it was not scissors, but in two parts like scissors?”

Villanelle makes a scissors motion with her hands. 

“To cut?”

“No, not cutting. More like…” Villanelle mimes a sort of squishing motion. “Tight. But not crushed?”

“Ahh.  _ Clamped _ ,” Missy beams.

“Yes. I  _ clamped  _ his balls very hard.”

Missy giggles.

“Technically he died from the gas, but he made the best face when I did it.”

Villanelle’s mischievous smile widens.

“I also gave them Eve’s name at the desk.”

“Ooh, naughty.”

“Yes. I am very naughty.”

/ /

It’s Villanelle’s last night in the vault, and she’s pretending to be asleep to avoid getting roped into late-night board games with Missy and the Doctor. She always loses against them, even when she cheats. Villanelle hates losing. 

“Why haven’t you been trying to give  _ her _ morality lessons?”

The question makes Villanelle’s ears perk up. Missy is clearly talking about her.

A heavy sigh.

“I looked her up. She’s… got a lot of influence in her time. A lot left to do. It would be dangerous to try and change her too much now.”

Villanelle feels a surge of pride.  _ She’s important. _

“Excuses,” Missy tuts.

“She’s not my responsibility.”

“But I am?” Missy’s voice drips with derision.

“Always,” comes the soft reply, and it’s laced with a tenderness that makes Villanelle suddenly uncomfortable.

There’s silence for a moment. Then Missy says something back, equally soft, in a language Villanelle can’t recognize. The Doctor responds in kind. And then there’s only the soft tapping of pieces on a chess board until Villanelle really does drift off to sleep.

/ /

Missy glides past Villanelle, dropping something in her lap as she goes.

Villanelle looks down and finds a cell phone. She recognizes it as the one belonging to Bill.

Missy doesn’t say anything, just plops into the chair next to Villanelle and picks up a book, kicking her feet up on the ottoman.

“You know, I think I was supposed to get a phone call when I first arrived. It is a bit late now to contact my lawyer.”

“Yes, it’s your last day of lockup,” Missy answers, not looking up from her reading.

When Villanelle doesn’t say anything, Missy continues, “By tonight, we’ll have caught up with your personal timeline, so you get to leave.”

“Are you going to miss me?” Villanelle asks cheekily.

Missy gives a little huff and mutters - just loud enough for Villanelle to hear - “Do I have to do  _ everything _ myself?”

“Time is funny,” Missy says casually, ignoring Villanelle’s question completely. “Right now, you’re here with me, but you’re also running around Rome. Doing… whatever it is you were doing before I showed up to hire you.”

Missy lowers her book slightly so she can meet Villanelle’s eyes over the top of it. Her eyes flick briefly down to the cell phone in Villanelle’s hands, then back to meet her gaze. The look is intense, like she’s trying to force meaning into it.

Villanelle stares at the other woman, contemplating the strange interaction, turning the phone over in her hands as she thinks.

She thinks about what she wants to do when she gets out of the vault. Where she will go. Who she will see.

She thinks about Rome. Rome a week ago, and Rome now. The same Rome.

She lurches from her chair and walks to the farthest corner of the vault to give herself some semblance of privacy.

Missy pretends not to hear as Villanelle makes a single hushed call in rapid Italian.

Villanelle pretends not to see Missy’s satisfied smile when she sits back down.

(An hour later, they both pretend they have not seen Bill’s phone when she comes looking for it. Villanelle slips it back into her jacket pocket when she’s distracted.)

/ /

Night falls, and it’s time for Villanelle to leave the vault.

But not before one final attempt on Missy’s life. For old time’s sake.

After her first day of failed attempts, Villanelle spent the full week plotting and gathering supplies and enacting each step of her plan bit by bit. Now she lounges in an armchair with the largest book in the vault propped up in her lap, pretending to read.

When the Doctor arrives with Bill and the Egg in tow, she’s ready. 

Villanelle stands up from the chair and stretches. She casually tosses the heavy volume onto the (pre-loosened) third tier of a bookshelf, which promptly collapses under the added weight. Villanelle stumbles back in “surprise,” causing her to bump into a side table. A glass falls from the table, shattering, spilling water all over the TV, which starts sparking and smoking from the wires Villanelle has exposed at the back. But that’s just the distraction.

Simultaneously, the next shelf of the bookcase collapses. The books crash down onto the lowest shelf and burst a carefully inflated take-out bag with a loud  _ POP!  _ The rush of air launches Villanelle’s homemade murder-projectile across the vault. (It’s a sort of throwing star, made up of sharpened chopstick points and the jagged edges of a broken Frozen DVD.)

Missy ducks in time - but just barely; the spiked weapon aiming to embed itself in her forehead still slices through a few locks of hair piled at the top of her head. Everyone watches in silence as the loose hairs float down to the ground.

Missy looks up first.

“You missed,” she taunts, but the corners of her mouth turn up in a smile that’s almost fond.

“Ah, well. Next time,” Villanelle shrugs, biting back a smile of her own, already headed for the open door as if nothing had happened.

Bill looks shocked and a bit scared. Eyebrows looks exasperated. The Egg shifts his feet nervously.

The Doctor flat out refuses to return Villanelle’s gun  _ or _ deadly hairpin, much to her dismay, and ushers her out the vault door after Bill.

  
Behind her, Villanelle hears Missy sigh wistfully to the Egg, “Why don’t  _ you _ ever try to kill me?”

**Author's Note:**

> I see a lot of parallels between the Master’s relationship with the Doctor and Villanelle’s relationship with Eve. Both the Master and Villanelle are the epitome of “villain commits crimes to get the attention of someone because they don’t know how to flirt like a normal person.” They don’t see why they should have to change their behavior to win over someone who’s already so inexplicably theirs. Their version of love hurts. But does that make it lesser?
> 
> Then there’s the Doctor and Eve, who both struggle to admit there’s a certain amount of darkness within them that makes them similar to their counterparts. What does it mean to love someone who kills so willingly, so readily, just for fun? Are you a monster for loving someone like that? Are their actions your moral responsibility? And does any of that matter, if you can’t live without them?
> 
> Thanks for reading x


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